


eat, snark, love (not necessarily in that order)

by CeruleanMusings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Roommates, Theo Nott is a Softie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22191715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeruleanMusings/pseuds/CeruleanMusings
Summary: Draco knows that Theo missed him. Now he just has to get him to admit it.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	eat, snark, love (not necessarily in that order)

Draco leaned his weary, rain-soaked, mud-covered, exhausted body against the doorway and watched. Well, admired would be the right word. He couldn’t just _look_ at Theo, not anymore. Not since...well, right about third year in fact. Something about the way Theo directed a cocky smile at him from across the room when he succeeded in the difficult potion they were learning on the first try grabbed him, shook him up, upended him, and set him back on his feet living in a new world. A world in which, somehow, Theo shifted towards the center.

And it gave him a lot of time to admire his old friend over the years. To take in the curve of his lips, a swath so pink he didn’t doubt that kissing them would taste as sweet as he imagined.

To sink into the depths of his murky eyes, not exactly green but not entirely brown either; a combination so unique even the shifting colors of the potions they spent months slaving over over the years touched upon that color.

To follow the curl of his deft fingers as they wrapped around his wand with certainty, barely giving his actions a second thought; almost as if it were an extra extension not just from his arm but from his mind, the spells and jinxes and charms cast with barely an utter from his lips.

To now, where he sat on the countertop—despite Draco asking him a thousand times _not_ to, for _Merlin’s_ sake—book held in front of his face, lithe fingers curled around the cover, long legs crossed at the ankles. (His lounge pants hiked up a few inches above his ankles. Draco made a mental note to take Theo shopping and then another mental note to find a way to bribe him into going).

But it was the jumper that really caught his eye; the slate gray, cable-knit jumper that seemed to hang off of Theo’s lanky frame in a way that, to others, would appear he was swimming in it but to Draco made him look comfortable, safe, and inviting. Like a teddy bear. Not that Draco would ever call him that. (To his face at least.)

And... _shit_ , he had to go and do it. Draco’s teeth scraped against his lower lip as his eyes scanned the length of Theo’s forearms. His _bare_ forearms, the sleeves pushed back up to his elbows, bunching and bundling only to emphasize the expanse from the elbow up to his bony wrists.

Fuck, _that’s_ what he missed the most while being away.

Yes, he enjoyed playing Quidditch again. He was shocked when he was accepted into the traveling intramural league and half expected some sort of ambush to take place when he showed up on the first day. They’d only been a few years removed from the fall of V...the Dark Lord and he was ready with his wand tucked up his arm and plethora of non-verbal spells and jinxes at his disposal. Just in case. But he was brought in with a clap on his back and a broom shoved into his hands. They took off into the sky, to test their skills and...Draco was free. His stomach swooped, wind rustled in his hair, tugged at his clothes, lifted him upwards and away from his worries, his name, his past. He missed it, he loved it, he didn’t even mind when he crash laded onto the waterlogged pitch and smeared mud into his workout gear.

But he missed _this_ more. Coming home, having a place to come home to, having someone wait for him, and...he stood up straight, eyebrows lifting. He shook his head, certainly his eyes were deceiving him but no. A quick pinch to his inner arm told him he was indeed awake. His pupils blew wide, gray shifting over to black when the fuzziness around Theo smoothed out and revealed a steaming pot, a spoon spinning in lazy circles around the rim as if an invisible hand stirred it. Another pot on the stovetop, covered by a lid dotted with condensation. He didn’t need to look to know what it was. The hearty scents wafted past his nose and fed the hungry beast in his stomach and perfectly meshed with the scent of _him._

He’d been away far too long.

His leather bag fell off his shoulder and landed on the hardwood floors with a _thump._ Behind the book Theo’s head lifted and then tilted to the side. Dropping one hand to his lap, he closed the book with a snap and lowered it from his face with such agonizing slowness that Draco had to keep from launching himself across the kitchen to yank it out of his hand

Theo’s green eyes took a slow journey from his face, down his neck, down his chest, dropping to his shoes, and traveled back up again. Draco felt his gaze; white hot against him. Goosebumps erupted over his skin and static sparked and crackled in his ears, in the air around him, the electricity thrumming with every breath that came out of him.

Theo lifted his chin and Draco saw it, a wisp of a smile at the corner of his mouth before he let out such a world-weary sigh that only Theodore Nott could muster and perfect.

“You always find a way to ruin my surprises,” he stated.

His legs, once numb, finally started up again. With each step he kept his gaze—steady and sure—on Theo until he was within arms reach. Their knees touching. Together. _Finally._ Still...“I think the fact that you want to surprise me is a surprise on it’s own.” Draco’s lips curled upwards and a challenging sparkle settled in his eyes. Up close, the spicy aroma of the stew and the colliding scent of Theo’s minty bodywash crashed into him, dizzying him.

“You’ve been gone for six days,” Theo said, following a snort. He reached out and brushed a few strands of white-blond hair out of Draco’s face.

Draco touched his knee. “Miss me, Nott?”

Theo’s eyes jumped up to the ceiling and he turned away from Draco, peering into the pot as the spoon continued to stir the brown liquid. Potatoes, carrots, beef, and onions bobbed among the surface. “You weren’t supposed to be back yet,” he said towards the surface.

Draco leaned forward, squeezing Theo’s knee as he pressed, “Did you miss me?”

Theo hummed; the sound reverberated in Draco’s skull and lit him up like a firework. “You’re very pushy for someone who’s tracking mud along my flat.”

“You missed me.” His smile—beaming of smug satisfaction—took up half his face at his conclusion. A man of little words, Draco could read Theo like a well-loved, frequently sought-after book. His fingertips read every pulse and twitch of Theo’s muscles as they trailed up his thighs.

“I haven’t said such a thing,” Theo said, voice deepening.

“Right. Because it’s normal for you to wear my jumper.”

Theo’s eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head. “This one’s mine.”

“No it’s not. My grandmum knitted me this one.” Draco tugged the hem, catching a glimpse of skin beneath; the trail of hair heading North and South simultaneously. He licked his lips. “Yours is white.”

Theo stilled and Draco took that as an opportunity to duck his head and press a kiss to his boyfriend’s throat. Theo’s adam’s apple bobbed and a hiss quickly followed when Draco reached beneath his jumper, running his hands on the expanse of Theo’s stomach. “Your hands are cold.”

Pushing a breath out his nose, it was Draco’s turn to roll his eyes. “Leave it to you to ruin a moment, Nott.”

“Don’t be a git, Malfoy. Alls I’m sayin’ is you’re getting me wet and muddy.”

“Right. Forgot you were a bit particular about your cleanliness.”

Theo gave him a pointed look. “Takes one to know one. You keep that up I won’t ask you to join me in the washroom.” As he spoke he reached around and grabbed at Draco’s arse, lifting him up onto his toes. Draco scratched at Theo’s stomach for good measure as Theo leaned forward and murmured into his ear, “Need to warm you up _somehow_.”

Backing away, Draco forced himself not to focus on the lack of warmth that grew in the space between them as he motioned towards the food on the stove. Let Nott squirm. Serves him right. “Mmm. I suppose the stew wasn’t to take care of that.”

Theo crossed his arms. “I still need to eat even when you’re not here.”

Lifting the spoon out of the pot, Draco sipped at the steaming stew. The burn on his tongue was worth the tension in Theo’s shoulders and the twist to his mouth. “I would have taken that at face value if you didn’t already say it was to surprise me.” In his peripheral he spotted that tiny tell-tale twitch at the corner of Theo’s eye.

There was a shortlist of things that Draco savored: a good spot of tea, Belgian chocolates, his grandmum’s desserts, his mum’s only attempt at cooking dinner (he knew Theo got the stew recipe from somewhere). But seeing Theodore Nott stumbling, thrown off his game?

That, well, that was priceless.

“You missed me,” he stated again, lifting his chin.

Theo leaned forward until his forehead pressed against the side of Draco’s head. “I always do,” he said. And before Draco could speak he added, “It’s _dreadfully boring_ without having someone around to ignore.”

“Git.” He grabbed the collar of Theo’s— _his_ —jumper and yanked him forward, lips colliding in a clumsy, hungry kiss that quickly melted into another and another and another where one barely ended when the next begun, heavy breaths filling the air and the humid heat trapped around the collar of Draco’s shirt rivaled the steam coming from the stove.

“Are you hungry?” Theo asked, the question embedded against Draco’s throat.

Draco’s eyes fluttered shut. “Not really.”

“Good.” Theo’s smirk caressing Draco’s throat made him groan, his body humming in appreciation. “I’ll build your appetite.”

“Kinda hoping you would.”

As Theo hopped down from the counter and dragged Draco out of the kitchen towards their bedroom with laced fingers, his eyes bounced from his abandoned Quidditch bag to the pictures lining the walls of their flat. And like with the sport, Draco reminded himself, as the familiar swooping tumbled his stomach, that he was allowed to be this happy. That he was allowed to move on. That he deserved this.

He did.

He _did._

He does.

**Author's Note:**

> Words can't describe how much I love this ship. I need more people to scream at about them! Check out my [tumblr](https://ceruleanmusings.tumblr.com)!


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